I swallow buttons and bows
To make myself pretty
You know
The mirror broke
Wore away
Like his face
Her feet
On cold stones
Bare
Like a harvest
She wraps the new glass
In brown paper
I don’t want to undo it
Unwrap what she gave me
Look up
There are colours in the sky
Fluid as the turn of the helicopter
Blades
The cloud
Sat plump on the water
The supermarket crashed
Thud
The sound of the glass
Dropping
The sound of the blade
Dropping
The sound of the penny
Dropping
You’ll be alright in a minute
You know I won’t
Forever more shall be
Conquer your hunger
It says
On the telephone box
As if it knows the battle
Of me
Walking by
Buttons and bows
Will not suffice
I think
And so I turn to powder and pins.
